Nathan Exits Stage Right
by Cszemis
Summary: In the Alternate Future, Nathan sits ill and lonely in the Oval Office. Not even a president can evade the virus attacking his system. He gains some hope when his estranged brother shows up, so it’s just a shame then that Peter isn’t all what he seems.


**Title:** Nathan Exits Stage Right

**Author:** Cszemis

**Summary:** In the Alternate Future, Nathan sits ill and lonely in the Oval Office. Not even a president can evade the virus attacking his system. He gains some hope when his estranged brother shows up, so it's just a shame then that Peter isn't all what he seems.

**Author's Note:** Thanks to all the wonderful people that reviewed my first Heroes fic, Let My Spirit Carry Me. This one is a little different, not funny, more tragic. I don't know if this idea has ever been done but it always seemed so heartbreaking to me in Five Years Gone that Nathan Petrelli was not Nathan Petrelli and Peter never ever knew until the very end.

* * *

Nathan shivered at his desk and ran one hand over his forehead, his other shaky and sweaty palm clutching a telephone.

"There's got to be something you can do," his voice was gruff and breathless, "just… put me through to Professor Suresh."

"I'm sorry Mr President," a man at the other of the line told him, a contemptuous Dr Roberts, "but we are unable to reach him at the moment. As I already told you he is not in his office, nor is he answering his phone."

"There's no other way of contacting him?" Nathan glared mentally at the man, "can't you go and find him or something?"

"He informed me that he was investigating something from Latin America, something to do with this virus he's been researching that attacks the irregulars in the population. My apologies, he hasn't been entirely focusing on how to restrain rogue DNA."

"Well when my Chief Medical Advisor decides to show up can you tell him that his president needs him immediately?" Nathan resisted the urge to cough and shuddered again.

"Of course, Mr President."

Nathan hung up and held his face in his hands, wincing as he was hit by another dizzy spell, able to feel the beginnings of a fever. He knew exactly what was wrong with him. Nathan Petrelli never got sick; he barely ever had anything as minor as a cold, not even when he was little. No, it was something to do with this virus of Suresh's, he was more than certain.

He pulled open a little leather bound book and began to write down his symptoms for future reference. He knew it was something that Mohinder would appreciate and as Nathan was usually quite focused and intelligent he made sure to note how long it had taken for his health to deteriorate, what symptoms had shown first, their order, how long between each one.

And he made a little note for himself.

"_Virus can potentially wipe out the evolved people if they have a different sort of immune system. Potential biological weapon for use against high risk individuals.__ How contagious is this virus? How does it spread?"_

His handwriting was sloppy and almost childlike; he had to fight his shaking hand to control the movements of his pen. To cross the t's and dot the I's.

Mohinder better have a cure.

Nathan wanted nothing more than to curl into bed and shut the world away. But as President of the USA such a thing was impossible. He had to settle for one of the couches, and even then he had nothing like a blanket to keep him warm, nothing to comfort him.

He was just getting settled when someone knocked on the door and a member of his security team entered.

"Mr President, your brother is here to see you."

"Peter?" Nathan raised his head weakly.

"He claims it's urgent. Should I allow him in?"

"Yes. Yes of course," Nathan struggled to sit back up again, moaning miserably when the man had left. He wasn't about to let Peter see him looking so weak. He sat up straight and tried to look as normal as possible, all too aware of his pale complexion, his sweaty brow, his shaking hands.

But if Nathan seemed different, he was nothing compared to the person that came into the room. Clad almost completely in black, his hair gelled back from his face, Peter Petrelli looked more like a movie villain rather than the sweet tempered, wide eyed brother Nathan remembered. A scar ran down Peter's face, making him seem even more intimidating.

"It's been a while," Nathan remarked to his estranged brother.

"I didn't think they were going to let me in," Peter spoke in a very un-Peter like cold voice, "I thought they were going to arrest me as soon as I appeared, major security threat and all. I'm one of those freaks that they are so fond of oppressing."

"If you're here to argue…" Nathan began.

"No, I'm not," Peter interrupted, "I just wanted to see you. Despite everything that's happened, despite what you did, I still miss you."

"I thought you hated me," Nathan wished his voice wasn't so weak.

"I have reasons to," Peter shrugged, "you letting me explode?"

"I did what I could to make sure you weren't hung, drawn and quartered for what happened," Nathan wondered if the lives lost in New York were the reason for the strange coldness in Peter's eyes. That sort of guilt lay heavily on a man, especially someone like Peter.

"Yeah, well," Peter said, "you're still my brother."

The younger man took his brother's office in with a small whistle and a raised eyebrow.

"You see this place in television and in movies all the time but it's more impressive than I imagined," Peter smirked a little, "my brother… Mr President!"

Nathan watched Peter head over to his desk, wondering if he was going to try and sit in his chair or something; gain some superficial feeling of what it would be like to be President. But instead Peter just looked over his desk.

"What's this?" he finally asked, picking up the small leather bound book and reading Nathan's last words.

"Nothing of any real significance," Nathan cursed his own stupidity. He just hoped Peter wasn't going to take his words the wrong way and watched him read with concern.

The young man narrowed his eyes a little and tossed the book carelessly back on the desk, finding it distasteful and without understanding the purpose. He looked back at Nathan with hardened eyes but his expression completely changed when Nathan shivered and coughed.

He was immediately at Nathan's side, "you're unwell!"

"I'm fine," Nathan replied stubbornly.

"You look awful. Look at this, you're shaking, sweating, and you're probably running a fever."

"I look better than you do," Nathan reached out and ran his finger down Peter's scar mournfully; it seemed so harsh on what was once a hopeful face.

"Never mind me!" Peter told him, "You have to tell me what's wrong. Is it merely flu, or is it something else?"

"It's something," Nathan allowed Peter to put an arm around his shoulders. Usually it was Nathan that comforted Peter, now it was his turn to feel safer in Peter's embrace, "Mohinder has a better idea of what it is."

"Is it contagious?"

"I don't know," Peter seemed to be holding him unusually close, but it made him feel better, "we don't know a lot about it yet or how it spreads. You could be in danger right now. It… kills people like us."

"I can heal remember?" Peter pointed out and rubbed Nathan's back soothingly, "so don't you waste energy worrying about me. You have always worried about me too much."

"I have to," Nathan coughed, "you're my baby brother."

Peter smiled a little and left a brotherly kiss on Nathan's forehead.

"It affects your powers," Nathan tried to explain to him, "I cannot… I can't… fly anymore. I try and I try and I try. I can't fly. I even tried jumping off my desk several times. You should have seen the security guys' faces when I did that."

"Their president going crazy, using his desk as a trampoline?" Peter chuckled.

"Not quite like a trampoline," Nathan shivered, "more like a springboard."

Peter seemed so caring, more like the brother Nathan remembered.

"And I gotta admit that it terrifies me," Nathan confessed, "You know I don't like to reveal what I can do. I'd try to talk my way out of a bad situation or something before I'd fly away. What I can do… could do… was more like Plan X rather than Plan B. My last resort in a really bad situation. And without it… I feel so weak."

"You're not weak Nathan," he wished for some reason that Peter would call him Nath. That's what he called him sometimes.

Nathan felt so frustrated, "Here I am and all I can think about is how incredibly angry you're making me. I'm supposed to be the one that helps you! I'm the one that's supposed to look out for you! And while I appreciate you being here for me and everything… I hate being vulnerable. Even in front of you."

He cursed himself, "Why do I have to be so stubborn? Why do I have to assume that I can handle everything on my own? Why can't I, for once, just let myself be me, and most importantly accept that right now I could die. If Mohinder can't do anything for me… who's going to look out for you?"

"Maybe that's what I want," Peter breathed.

Nathan glanced at his brother curiously, surprised to see the gentleness in Peter's eyes fade. But Peter didn't let him go, if anything he held Nathan tighter.

"Maybe I need to get rid of the protective big brother," Peter told him, "to finally get what I want."

"What are you talking about Pete?"

"I'm not who you think I am," Peter's laugh was cold; "there was this incredibly special woman out there once. Candice Wilmer? She could make you see whatever she wanted you to, fooling your senses. I took her abilities."

"Peter?" dread and fear settled in Nathan's stomach.

"I'm the man you blamed for your brother's little… accident," Peter's face blurred away and instead the cruel visage of Gabriel Gray, the villain known as Sylar appeared in his place.

Nathan tried to call out but Sylar was quicker, shoving his hand over Nathan's mouth to silence him. He held the President in place with telekinesis so he could maintain what seemed to be Peter's affectionate embrace.

"I'm disappointed in you Nathan," Sylar whispered into his ear as the front of Nathan's skull slowly tore open, "I wanted this to be more of a challenge, I wanted you to be able to fight back. Instead you're just a broken toy that can't even fly off your own desk.

"I can see in your eyes, you're waiting for the real Peter Petrelli to come through that door, aren't you? Like you said, you've always been there to save him; you always got him out of trouble. So why isn't he here to return the favour, hmm? Oh yes, I remember now. The bomb was the last straw wasn't it? You don't talk to him anymore, he has no idea how you've changed in these last years. Your hopes and dreams, your secret fears and darkest nightmares. He doesn't even know that you're ill. I always thought that Peter dreamt about you when you were in danger; I guess he doesn't waste precious dreamtime on a man he despises."

Tears pooled in Nathan's eyes as he struggled in Sylar's grip, but whether that was from the excruciating pain in his head or his dying regrets Sylar was unable to tell.

He chuckled, "he's never going to know that you're gone. His own brother, dear big brother, his Nathan, died right here in the Oval Office in the arms of his enemy. He's never going to know that you died and he never got to say goodbye. He's never going to mourn your death, no moving eulogy, no flowers, no nice resting spot in the Petrelli family plot. He's never going to cry for you.

"How does that make you feel? I know how it would make me feel. It would make me feel like my entire existence had been worthless, a mere blip in God's great plan. You're president of the United States and yet no one cared enough about you to care that you're gone," Sylar lowered his voice and hissed into Nathan's ear, "and no one will ever care. The things I will do in your name… the horrors I will unleash upon the world, everyone will learn to hate you and your name. You'll be cursed, despised. You'll end up right up there with Adolf Hitler, killing the millions that were just like you.

"I don't need any more powers, at least not from everyone in the wide world that can melt things or read minds. I'll collect only one more after you. I know now… the one that can heal? She's your daughter. Oh… I saw that flicker of surprise there. You didn't know she was alive? Well she can regenerate and heal. How does that feel Nathan? Knowing that very soon I will have your daughter's power as my own, her head split open like yours will be now."

Nathan tried to scream as the cut on his head got steadily bigger, deep crimson trickling down his face, down his cheek like tears, into his eyes, blinding him. But Sylar held his hand over Nathan's mouth and he could only struggle in his arms.

"Because of you, because of your brother, I'm going to make this nice and slow. Inch by inch, millimetre by millimetre. And you're going to feel every little bit of it, you'll be wishing for death by the end. And like a merciful man I will give it to you and your ability will be mine.

"You and I, we shall be one."

* * *

Gabriel Gray sat proudly at the President's desk, reading several reports intended for the very recently deceased Nathan Petrelli.

Nathan was still lying on the sofa, blood seeping from his wounds, an expression of horror frozen forever on his face.

Gabriel hummed cheerfully. It was becoming easier to control this illusion ability, he totally looked like Nathan now, and he was able to manipulate the secret service men enough that they never saw the corpse in the room.

Not even Mohinder Suresh saw Nathan when he practically ran into the office.

Gabriel looked up from the reports with the Petrelli smile and welcomed Mohinder with delight.

"Mr President," Mohinder tried to catch his breath, "Dr Roberts seemed to think you were ill."

"Me?" Gabriel feigned surprise.

"He said you sounded awful!" Mohinder held his chest. "Is it? Is it the virus? How long have you felt this way? What are your symptoms? You may still be cured!"

"Professor, professor," Gabriel waved his worries away, "I'm fine. I was just tired. False alarm."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. In fact… I've never felt better."

* * *

**Did you enjoy it? Or were you shocked? Moved? Hated and despised this with a passion? Let me know!! Please?**


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